


Love's souvenir

by Yesimevil



Category: The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows - Stiles/Drewe/Grahame
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, I have an impressive lack of self control, I wrote this in like 6 hrs, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss of Parent(s), Mole (mentioned), Ratty gets a hug, Rat’s father (mentioned), Rat’s mother (mentioned), Toad (mentioned), Toad’s father (mentioned), not really mentioned in detail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 18:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30110040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yesimevil/pseuds/Yesimevil
Summary: He remembered how his heart broke when young Ratty had looked up at him, small, confused,scared,and asked quietly: “was it something I did?” when he was told his mommy wasn’t coming home.
Relationships: Rat & Badger (Wind in the Willows)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Love's souvenir

**Author's Note:**

> Just me fulfilling my brain’s demands to write an angsty fic for animals from a children’s-story-turned-musical.   
> Title is from the quote by Glennon Doyle Melton, “Grief is love’s souvenir. It’s our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I love well. Here is my proof that I paid the price.”

Ratty had been young when his mother passed away—almost too young to even remember her. Even now, on occasion, Badger would catch him staring into her framed photograph, or holding her shawl tightly, his brow furrowed in a desperate attempt at recognition, but he only had glimpses of memories and stories his father would tell him. Badger remembered her, such a sharp and spirited rat, but who was overjoyed to become a mother, a rat who loved the river as much as she loved her family.

He remembered the day she died better than he was willing to admit to even himself. He hadn’t been the one to deliver the news, but he was the one who had to stop one of his best friends from throwing himself in the river after her. It was shocking— _terrifying_ —to see the usually composed animal so broken. It was a terrible accident, but only an accident; she hadn’t been taken by the woods or any traps—but perhaps, in a twisted way that would have been better if she had; it could have provided closure, _revenge_.He remembered holding his friend tightly until the near-hysterical sobs had tapered off and the rat drifted of to a fitful sleep, and how he sank down to the floor next to the chair to allow himself a moment to grieve for her, for his friend, for their child.

After a while he had gone out looking for the young animal, and found him playing in a shallow area of the river. He remembered how his heart had jolted in a panic, how he had to fight the urge to grab the pup and pull him away from the roaring, unforgiving waters as fast as he could ~~and how sometimes even now he has nightmares of the river taking him that day too~~. He remembered how his heart broke when young Ratty had looked up at him, small, confused, _scared_ , and asked quietly: “was it something I did?” when he was told his mommy wasn’t coming home.

To his surprise, it had only took a few weeks for Rat Sr. to take little Ratty out on the river again. “I won’t let him grow up afraid of the damn river,” he had told Badger, his jaw set and a pain in his eyes, but when Badger pushed he admitted that being out on the river made him feel closer to her. Both he and Toad Sr.—for both his friends held the title of Sr. now, each with offspring that shared their names, Toad with a rambunctious little tadpole with a knack for getting into trouble and dragging little Ratty with him—both he and Toad Sr. came over almost day, and most times supper was held at Toad Hall or a picnic by the river.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it was just the two of them, Toad Sr. having passed a year or two prior. Young Ratty wasn’t Ratty anymore but Rat Jr., a name which he would correct a bit snappishly, a cold steel behind the eyes and the memories of a broken friendship he didn’t care much to repair. Toad Jr., now Mr. Toad, had become all the more reckless and unrestrained once his father died, dragging Rat Jr. into “adventure” after “adventure” until he had finally had enough.“They’re young, they have time to make things right,” Rat Sr. would say casually when Badger would comment on it, but Badger could see he was worried they wouldn’t. He knew his friend would have devoted himself to coaxing the boys to make up if he wasn’t... well... illnesses are tricky, plodding one course only to switch at the last moment, teasing the hope of recovery, snatching it away.

Badger practically lived in the house during those months, sleeping on the couch more often than his own bed. Selfishly, he was glad that they were alonein the room when the time came. It allowed him to have a few moments to grieve, and twice as many to compose himself before he had to leave the room and find a way to break the news to Rat Jr., who was now just Rat. Rat, who had expected the worst but hoped for the best. Rat, who despite taking care of the house almost singlehandedly for the past few months, looked overwhelmed at the idea of the house being his. Rat, who was still in the gangly, awkward adolescent stage, almost still a pup. Rat, who didn’t cry at the news, but nodded heavily and disappeared into the room to say goodbye.

Badger didn’t come back to the house for a day or two— _he_ _couldn’t,_ he couldn’t look at the empty chair and the empty pipe, and selfishly, he couldn’t look at Ratty—at _Rat_ without seeing his friend. No one saw the young rat again until the funeral, and all throughout the service he didn’t shed a single tear. Not out of apathy or unkindness, of course. To others, he seemed to be handling the loss and the new responsibilities rather well, but Badger knew him, _knew his father_ , knew there was a storm brewing under the composed exterior.

He went back to the house with Rat after the funeral. It was harder, but at the same time easier, to go there once his friend had been laid to rest in the ground. Toad hadn’t shown up to the funeral, but Badger suspected that the large flower arrangement was from the estranged friend. The same flower arrangement that looked as if it had been flung unceremoniously into the mud, and sat sinking into the riverbank. They didn’t talk much. Perhaps they should’ve. Perhaps they should’ve allowed themselves to grieve mutually, to swap stories about the presence they felt missing from them so strongly and painfully. Instead, they had tea in silence, each one barely holding themselves together and not knowing the other well enough to be comfortable enough to show it. It was that moment Badger had realized he didn’t know Rat very well at all.

He tried to visit often, but each time became harder than the last. When Toad Sr. had passed, at least he and Rat Sr. had each other to lean on, but now... Badger was left alone, with only ghosts of the past to haunt him. Rat had always been so much like his father, a point they would all tease the both of them about, but that was more of a curse now. He visited as often as his selfish nature allowed, and he and Rat would sit alone, together.

Rat had been so convincing at appearing composed that even Badger was starting to believe it until one day he let himself in when his knock was unanswered; having the key did not mean it was polite to enter a house without knocking first. A startling noise caught his attention instantly, and he searched around with growing alarm until he reached the parlor and for a moment—only a moment—marveled at how Rat continuously possessed the ability to shatter his heart. The young animal had been doubled over in the middle of the parlor, sobbing, choking, clutching his father’s fishing hat to his chest and breathing so fast that he wasn’t breathing at all, and for a second, Badger saw a flash of a memory: _the very same fishing hat being thrown on the ground as the owner rushed towards the river in a grief-induced frenzy, crying the same wild sobs_. He had knelt next to the bereaved animal, placing a hand on his back a bit awkwardly. He was never good at comforting others.

“I can’t do it, I- I can’t do it without him,” Rat had sobbed. Badger hadn’t been able to reply, not trusting his voice to speak without a waver.

_I can’t do it without her, Badge. I can’t._

As time passed Rat seemed to grow more and more like his father, and selfishly, Badger’s visits became fewer and fewer until one day it had been a year since he had ventured out of his hole, and then two. He was alone, quite by his own choice. He supposed that in the long run, it was easier to live when there was no one to lose, but he couldn’t deny that the loneliness was suffocating.

Then one day, Rat had showed up on his doorstep with a small mole, and didn’t correct him as he exclaimed “Ratty!” in delight because he was Ratty again and shivering from both cold and fear and Badger was delighted to see him, despite the familiar pang in his chest as Ratty paced and twitched his tail in the same manner that his father had. While it stung a bit that they were only there for his help, he was glad for the company; Ratty, who had grown taller and happier since Badger had last seen him, and his blunt little friend who, it seemed, Ratty would follow to the moon and back if given the chance.

He thought after they sorted out Toad that would be the end of it, and he would be permitted to retreat back to his hole, but to his surprise he received visitors and invitations—hesitantly at first, and more invitations than visitors, due to his less than ideal neighborhood—but he received them all the same. The little mole had taken a liking to him, dragging Ratty with him to see Badger nearly weekly. Ratty was more cautious of the woods, jumping whenever his own tail brushed him, but all it took was a small squeeze from Mole’s paw to calm him. But one day, Badger had opened the door to find only Ratty, who was so nervous it made Badger nervous, and for a moment worried him that Mole was in danger. But Ratty had laughed awkwardly and Mole was fine, and Ratty had just wanted to spend time with Badger alone. It was awkward at first as they tried to find out where their relationship stood, but by the end of the afternoon they were perfectly comfortable around one another. However, as Ratty visited more often, Badger felt a pressing need to acknowledge the fact that he all but abandoned the other animal in a time of need, but he could never seem work up the courage to confront the matter.

It was a crisp fall day when he finally found the strength to apologize, after a hearty midday meal when they were chatting by the fire. He regretted having to spoil a cheerful visit, but he knew that his apology was long overdue as it was.

“...don’t believe it, but Mole says that—Badger? Are you asleep?” Ratty said in a half-joking, half-serious way. Badger blinked, stirring from his trance. Ratty frowned, shifting in the armchair that was just a bit too big for him. “Are you alright? You’re getting a bit mopey. Is it the weather?” Badger shook his head, even though he had felt a touch drowsier since the change of season.

“There is something that needs to be said, that I have put off for too long,” he said with a sigh, collecting himself a moment before he continued. “I... am truly sorry for not visiting more after... after...” he saw by the change on Ratty’s face that he didn’t need to finish the sentence. The way the smile dropped for half a second, the slight twitch of the eye.

“It’s alright, I mean, he was your friend-”

“But _your_ father,” Badger cut off the justification swiftly, albeit harsher than intended, something he realized upon seeing the other animal clench his jaw instinctively. He sighed, running a paw over his face.

“He was your father,” he repeated, quieter, “as well as my friend, and as such I should have visited often.”

Ratty was fidgeting now, looking down at his paws. He cleared his throat sheepishly.

“I could have made an effort-”

“No,” Badger interrupted again, “we’re both older now, and we both no there’s no justification for it. I allowed my grief to prevent me from looking after you—you are so much like you father, you know,” he said softly, a bittersweet smile coloring his words. Ratty was silent, giving a smile of his own and looking down as Badger continued. “I saw him in you in almost everything you did. I... I think I saw him more than I saw you. That made it harder for me to see you and easier for me to justify staying away, but I never—I _never_ should have been so selfish as to have—to let—“ he stopped rather abruptly, not knowing how to finish what he was trying to say. But Ratty nodded, glancing across the room at a bookshelf, a mist of tears in his eyes.

“Oh,” the rat said simply. There was a pause, the fire crackled, and then he spoke again. “I—I always thought maybe it was something I did,” he admitted with half a laugh, his voice shaking, and suddenly he wasn’t Rat, or Rat Sr. but little Ratty, looking up at him in innocent confusion, asking _“was it something I did?”_ too young to be taking the blame, and even now still _too young_.

“All this time, you thought you drove me away?” he questioned gently. Ratty nodded and attempted to laugh but squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took a shuddering breath in an attempt to steady himself. Badger rose slowly, crossing the distance between them and kneeling in front of the chair. He reached out carefully, hesitantly, almost as if he were afraid of breaking something—trust, friendship, even Ratty himself. He gently began to tug the younger animal into a hug.

“I—I’m fine, I just need a minute,” Ratty protested, weakly trying to pull away. They both knew it was a boldfaced lie, that Ratty was too stubborn and cautious to admit when he needed comfort. So Badger persisted, ignoring the weak protests of the other animal until his resolve fell away and he crumpled into the embrace, his face buried in the older animal’s shoulder. Badger held him tightly, letting his chin tuck over Ratty’s shoulder as the rat wrapped his arms around him just as tightly.

“Oh, Ratty,” Badger murmured, “I... I’m so sorry.” His apology was weighed heavily by guilt. Ratty mumbled something about how it wasn’t Badger’s fault, he just had an annoyingly self-deprecating habit of shoveling as much blame onto himself as fast as he could, something which Badger had heard Mole snap (not unkindly) at his friend on more than one occasion. Regardless, Badger held him tighter, hoping to convey the years and years worth of apologies he couldn’t express in words.

The room was silent, save the crackling of the fire and the occasional sniffle from Ratty, but for once it wasn’t the lonely, empty silence that Badger had grown accustomed to, the silence that weighs heavy on the soul. Somehow this silence was warm, comforting, showing promise for the future.

Their friendship had been a difficult thing up until this point; never fully built, never fully torn down—an awkward friendship, neither knowing what role the other played—but maybe now, it could start to mend.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in my notes on my phone and published this in the same day so if you find mistakes please let me know!


End file.
